rock you like a hurricane
by chokecherries
Summary: The living dead are actually a thing that is happening, apparently Natsu is the chosen one, Gray just wants his coffee, dammit, and Lucy is so over her life. Is there a sympathy card for Sorry the Zombies Ate Your Family? Also, do I smell romance in the air, or is that just the stench of rotting flesh?—natsu/lucy, gray/juvia, plus others
1. i

**notes: **so guess who's writing a modern zombie au while wearing a shirt that says "be kind to zombies, they're people too." if you guessed it was me, you would be correct. guess who also didn't notice until just now? also me. **  
****disclaimer: **disclaimed**  
****dedication: **to my cousin who watches horror movies even though he's ridiculously superstitious and jumps at every little thing. to this day i'm still unsure if you're brave, or just dumb. **  
****more notes: **yes, i wrote this even though i've never seen a zombie movie in my life. _what about it. _rated g for (probable) graphic violence and gore.

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(_a zombie memoir, or how Natsu Dragneel realized that he is the chosen one,  
and possibly one of the greatest zombie slayers ever._)  
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**act i**

the beginning of the end, _or_ the dishes will have to wait, there's zombies to kill

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{_all those people in the old photographs i've seen are dead_}

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—

Natsu is eating Captain Crunch and watching Saturday morning cartoons like any self-respecting high school junior when the world ends. Perhaps it's just another screw up (though not on his part) in his life, because a _Saturday, are you freaking kidding? _The only get two days between school weeks, it really couldn't have ended on a Thursday or something? He realizes that he's lazy and that's he's just procrastinating that chemistry homework, okay, his friends have told him numerous times, but this is on a whole other level.

Besides, kids these days are so invested in their phones and whatever else they have that's electronic, and he can't just let the weekend morning tradition die out. It'd be like, a disgrace to humanity or something. And _somebody _has to watch Daffy Duck epically fail at almost everything he tries. He also realizes that getting a job would be "preferable" and it might be on his list of Things to Do, but it's not exactly one of his high priorities—in fact, he thinks that his chem homework comes before that, and even then it's like number fifteen.

He's seventeen, alright, and who hires seventeen-year-old hormonal teenage guys and pays them a fair wage? That's right, nobody. Job experience would be helpful, but the only things available to him are probably either working in fast food or retail, and honestly, he'd rather makeout with Gray before doing either of those.

Anyway.

Back to the world.

Everything goes to hell on a relatively nice Saturday in October, and maybe it is a good thing that it's on a weekend, because who wants to be at school at a time like this? Like really. But the day is seemingly normal from the start—he wakes up early this morning, at nine, pours himself some sugary cereal and falls back onto the couch to watch some tv.

He's about to shovel his tenth spoonful of cereal into his mouth when he hears it.

It's a weird sound—kind of like a muted bang, but also a thud—and he just figures that Mrs. Schmooker's old Ford pickup still has that problem with the exhaust pipe. She seriously needs to get it fixed, because if he's not already awake (and he usually isn't) on Saturdays, it backfires every morning without fail at nine-thirty and rudely jars him from his blissful slumber. He gets that she's like sixty-four and she's widowed, okay, but he would be _happy _to help fix it if she just _let him. _He'd do it for free, too—no need to take it in to a shop as long as she purchased the right parts—if it meant that it wouldn't wake him up early on weekends.

So he passes it off as the stupid backfiring problem and returns to watching Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck fight over which hunting season it actually is while Elmer Fudd stands off to the side. He shoves the spoonful of cereal into his mouth and almost chokes when the banging becomes louder. He slams a fist into his chest a few times and coughs because he doesn't really want Cap'n Crunch in his lungs, and the banging continues.

"What the fuck," he mumbles to himself and stands up. Her truck is seriously acting up today, maybe it'd finally bit the dust. Which, _praise be, _meant that she would probably need a new vehicle, but at least he wouldn't have to put up with the pickup backfiring anymore. At least, _as soon as she stopped trying to start it and it quit dying on her almost immediately. _

Natsu stalks over to his front door and turns the lock before flinging it open. "Mrs. Schmooker, can you _please_—for the love of all things holy—" he pauses, and blinks at the sight before him.

His street is literally on fire. Flames are licking hungrily at the foundations of houses up and down Forest Avenue, his seemingly one of the only ones untouched. There are a few people running around screaming in terror, which is, y'know, considerably strange behavior. But most importantly, the banging slash weird thudding noise continues—only louder now—although Mrs. Schmooker's truck is sitting stationary in her drive, on fire.

He slowly turns his head in the direction of the noise, and as it turns out, it's coming from one of his front windows, the ones located behind the shrubs. Or, more specifically, the woman he thinks is his elderly neighbor lady slamming her head into the window. She's still dressed in her bath robe and slippers, her hair still in curlers, and Natsu considers talking to somebody about having her sent to an assisted living facility. He resists the urge to curse loudly, because she's a religious woman who always goes to church every Sunday morning (thankfully after nine) and always brings him cookies on Thursday evenings. He really likes those cookies.

"Mrs. Schmooker, _why _are you—hey! Stop that! You're drawing blood—and getting it all over my window!"

Natsu is about to rush over and pull her away when she suddenly turns around, and he takes a step back. It's her, alright, he can tell even with the blood running down her face. But she's different—her skin is still sagging from age, but now it's a dull gray color, and she's snarling at him. He sincerely hopes that it's breakfast sausage stuck in her dentures, but he knows it's not. She stares at him, one of her eyeballs barely hanging from a tendon, and he resist the urge to vomit.

Everything really connects when the screaming mailman runs by his house, only to be tackled by who he thinks is Mrs. Cooper, or what's left of her. She then proceeds to rip his intestines out and shove them in her gaping mouth. Natsu would be impressed with the move if they were playing football, but now all he feels a sudden bout of nausea coming on.

At the moment, Mrs. Schmooker decides to lunge for him, teeth snapping and dangling eye bobbing. He swears anyway, this time, even though he's still technically in the presence of his elderly neighbor. Sort of.

"Shit!"

He dodges and ducks back into his open door before slamming it shut and locking it. He also slides the deadbolt in place for good measure, and groans in agitation.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" he cries, and slams his forehead against the red painted wood, though mostly in irritation that no, he's not going over to Gajeel's later and there won't be any Modern Warfare marathon until five in the morning.

Natsu huffs and glowers at the undead Mrs. Schmooker, who has gone back to trying to break his window in with her head. She's smearing her icky blood all over it, and there are other features about her face he doesn't particularly wish to see anymore, so he closes the curtains.

Leave it to all the early risers to get the first brunt of the apocalypse. He shakes his head because really, who gets up and around early on Saturday mornings? Crazy people, that's who. Well, and Lucy, but she's always been weird.

But seriously, he's been preparing for this moment all his life, or at least since he was like, nine. Everyone thought he was just being ridiculous—which,_ ex_-_fucking_-_scuse_ you, he isn't one of those crazy gun separatists or anything okay—and now look at them. They were out panicking and getting eaten by the minute, while he was safe inside his home, which is full of supplies. He counts this as one of his first victories over humanity.

Natsu: 1.

Everyone else: 0.

Look who's laughing now.

Anyway, he's seen pretty much every zombie movie in existence, from the classics to Zombieland and The Walking Dead and everything in between, and he's played enough Call of Duty Zombies to know what he's up against. Well, sort of. He does have the basic facts though, and they are these:

They're not fast, they look disgusting and smell even worse, they don't just go for the brains, they stagger and sway worse than drunks on a Friday night, and he has to find his friends and family.

He's not sure what their bite does, how people turn, or how any of this got started in the first place, but as he loads his dad's shotgun and stuffs extra shells into his backpack—along with perishable and nonperishable food supplies, knives, and anything else useful he can get his hands on—he knows he's going to find out. One way or another.

The linen closet on the second story is stocked with aluminum baseball bats, an axe, and other various items useful for this type of venture, and he packs as much as he can without it being _too much. _You don't want to be weighed down by anything when you're running for your life from fleshing-craving mutations of former humans. What a stupid way to die.

Natsu also includes some extra clothes, because who knows how long this thing will last, and he may not be the most hygienic person ever, but wearing the same clothes for months is nasty. After everything seems to be ready to go, he opens the window to his second floor bedroom and steadies the rifle is his hands on the sill. Mrs. Schmooker has apparently given up on trying to use her head as a battering ram and is chasing the UPS guy down the street.

"Sorry Luetta," he says, before peering through the scope and pulling the trigger twice. She goes down in an instant, and smashes onto the pavement. The UPS guy actually manages to make it to his truck, and speeds away, hitting zombies out of the way like bowling pins.

Natsu clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and closes the window. Slinging the rifle over his arm, along with at least two other guns belonging to his late father, he grabs his backpack and heads downstairs.

It's going to be a long Saturday.

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(_x_)

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Juvia lets out a cry of despair as her former handsome neighbor crashes through a patch of her meticulously planted begonias. He snaps to attention, hearing her cry, and her blood instantly runs cold. He lets out a strange gurgling sound and reaches toward her, feet dragging over the ground.

She lets out a shriek and drops the morning paper in favor of grabbing a nearby shovel. Michael comes closer, and she makes a face at his right arm and the exposed bone, and then at the hole in his chest. He makes grabby hands at her as he attempts to reach up through the white posts on her front porch to get to her ankles. She brings the end of the shovel down on his wrist, hand and fast, and it slices through the gray skin. The hand goes flying—and she promptly brings the metal down on his head.

"I didn't want to go out with you anyway," she mumbles and then cringes at the awful squishing sound.

Zombie Michael sways and collapses, and she grips the handle of the shovel tighter before backing up. Her street is mostly clear, with only a few stragglers still lingering around, but she doesn't know what to do.

"Why do all the worst things happen to me? Why can't I have just one normal day? That's all I ask, really. No zombies on a Saturday. Especially not a Saturday when I was supposed to study with _Gray_."

She hopes that he's okay, because you know, she's in love with him and all that. But he doesn't _know that apparently, _even though everyone else seems to, and she can't die without really making it clear to him first. Well, honestly she doesn't want to die _at all, _but definitely not by zombie. Then people would be right in saying that she's an airhead and a ditz and she's not about to let that happen.

Juvia blows some fringe out of her eyes and adjusts her flower crown—it's her favorite, the one with the small pink roses, because she has to look her best for Gray. She lifts her head a little higher and retreats back inside to grab a few things before leaving.

Her neighborhood might be quiet now, but it didn't mean that it would stay that way. Also, it isn't just Gray she's worried about, because all her friends are still (hopefully) out there too.

She pulls her meticulously curled cornflower hair up into a messy bun and smiles at her reflection in the mirror. Time to get slaying.

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(_x_)

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Gajeel bashes a zombie's head in with the biggest monkey wrench he could find as Gray torches an elderly man wearing a newsboy cap and one suspender. Their respective mornings had started off relatively normal, with both of them getting up around eight. Gajeel had gone out to work on his jeep before their video game all-nighter, and Gray had come over to help.

Everything had gone to shit about thirty minutes later, when a Girl Scout tried to bite Gray's fingers off, and things hadn't gotten any better.

"Fucking zombies, man," Gajeel intones as Gray swings his blow torch around and slams a welding helmet down over Undead Elderly Newsie.

Gray nods and drops the helmet, instead picking up a bat Gajeel had stored in his garage from his baseball years when he was younger. "All I wanted," he bites out, "was my damn coffee and to learn how to change my oil. I was supposed to study with Juvia later too."

Both zombies finally fall, _really _dead, this time, and they wipe the sweat off their foreheads. Gray's white t-shirt is stained with grease and other things he doesn't really wish to know about, and Gajeel has what is, quite possibly, brain matter in his hair.

Natsu was probably rejoicing, wherever he was, because he'd been prepping for this day like a girl prepares for prom since he was a kid. That's roughly eight years of planning, imaging worst case scenarios, and a hella ton of summer and weekend nights spent analyzing every zombie movie and franchise ever. Gajeel thinks that if his cousin was half as committed to his education as he is to preparing for the "inevitable dawn of the undead" that he'd be one of smartest people he knew.

It was not the case though, but surely if anyone could survive this, it'd be Natsu.

The moron was probably still sleeping though, to be honest, and either hadn't noticed the shift yet or wouldn't until the undead were already in his house.

"You thinking about Natsu?" Gray questions as he edges around the rotting Girl Scout's headless body and reaches for his jacket.

Gajeel gives a nod and brushes his hands off on his pants. "Yeah. We should probably find him—or anyone else we can, I guess. You said something 'bout Juvia earlier, right? Gotta swing by there and check on her."

Images of his oldest friend's body mangled and bloody make his stomach churn, and he shakes his head in an attempt to make them go away. Juvia was a tough girl, she'd be fine so long as she didn't do anything like putting herself straightway into danger. Not many people live on her street anyway, so it would probably be clear for the most part.

"We should head to Fairy Tail after that," Gray grunts, resting the bat on his shoulder. "I bet that's where everyone will be."

Gajeel steps over Undead Newsie's corpse and starts his Jeep. "Yeah."

Gray swings himself up into the cab and slams the passenger door shut. "Hey, what about Levy? Doesn't she go for a run on Saturday mornings?"

Gajeel puts the Jeep into gear faster than he ever has before.

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(_x_)

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Lucy thinks this must be the most insane thing that's ever happened to her. Maybe it's punishment because she was a terrible serial killer in her former life, or something. Although she can't really picture herself as a serial killer, or a criminal of any sort, at least until today.

She swings the ax around and cringes as the zombie's head goes flying. It lands on somebody's front porch, and she mentally apologizes even though they're probably already dead or one of _them. _She's watched movies with Natsu—seriously, he has some kind of obsession or something—but nothing could have prepared her for this. Things like this just don't _happen _in real life. The whole "Zombie Apocalypse" thing was just a stupid superstition of nerds and gullible people alike, and Natsu, who didn't really qualify as either. Gullible, maybe. Certifiably insane? Also maybe.

Then again, probably not, because here she is, hacking already dead people apart like some kind of demented version of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Only she was slaying zombies, not vampires, but honestly she'd rather take her chances with the vampires. At least their brains had cognitive functions and they possessed some form of sense. Even Dracula.

But no, she's stuck with zombies. Which? _Sucky. _

In the beginning, she thought it was just people dressing up and being a general nuisance to those around them. _Come on you guys, _she'd called to a group of screaming teenagers as they'd run past her, _Halloween isn't two weeks away. Get a grip. _That lasted up until she'd realized what was actually happening. She'd been walking to Juvia's house until she witnessed a husband—only, certainly not anymore—trying to eat his wife. She's just so incredibly over her life at this point, it's unreal.

Thankfully she'd seen the ax sticking out of some guy's woodpile outside of his house, or else she'd have been dead forever ago. Even though she's probably only been out here four an hour or so. She's never stolen anything in her life before this, and she's really sorry but she also doesn't have a deathwish. No weapon plus hordes of zombies craving her flesh and brains equals certain disaster, she did the math.

Lucy cautiously glances around, but everything is silent. Except she thinks she hears screaming coming from a couple streets away. Not surprising, really, seeing as how it seems to be the end of the world as they know it and there are zombies staggering around trying to eat everyone who's not already dead.

_Her life. _

She checks the name on the street sign and is surprised to discover that she's not far from Fairy Tail. If she can just make it there, where all her friends are surely headed to, then she'll be alright. For a little while, at least.

The blonde hitches her axe higher on her shoulder and sets off, thinking about her best friend all the way. _He's fine, _she repeats in her head like a mantra, _he's practically been waiting for this from the moment he was born. He's fine, he's fine, he's fine. Everyone's fine. _

Well, not _everyone, _because she's seen a lot of bodies that _weren't _up and walking around searching for a meaty snack. Magnolia may be a wreck, but her friends are okay.

Surely.

_tbc._

**end notes: **will feature focus on natsu/lucy, gray/juvia, jellal/erza, gajeel/levy, romeo/wendy, and possible others.


	2. ii

**notes: **you guys aren't overly fond of zombie movies or stories either? we could be like, related or something. also, i watched fairy tail abridged (the parody) and _you guys, _it is gold. natsu's such an asshole but he's also so cool. lucy is portrayed as kind of a dumb blonde who doesn't really do anything though, but.  
**dedication: **to pizza, and _guardians of the galaxy, _my favorite marvel movie.

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(_a zombie memoir, wherein Romeo Conbolt concluded that being a paperboy is a terrible career choice,  
and getting attacked by zombies is an occupational hazard, apparently._)

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**act ii**

this is do or die, _or _so i guess we're skipping breakfast and going straight  
to the slaying 

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{_show them all you're not the ordinary type_}

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—

Levy pulls the pillow over her ears and groans, thinking maybe—just _maybe_—she shouldn't have pulled an all-nighter reading. In her defense, once she had started, she hadn't been able to stop. It was like the book had completely pulled her in, and she didn't reemerge until the back cover was shut, and she blearily noticed that the clock read 1:07 am.

Also, what the hell kind of way to is that to end a book? To just leave the main character to die like that—or not, she doesn't actually know because the last page was all fucking cryptic. Whatever, now she has to go out and buy the last book of the trilogy, figures.

She squints against the bright sunshine streaming through her window and yawns. Levy rolls over and rubs at her eyes wearily, still grumbling. The alarm clock—which she had conveniently forgotten to turn on—says it's half past eight. Well, so much for her morning run, then. Honestly, she's seriously tempted to just go back to sleep and forget everything she has to do today.

She somehow managers to roll out of bed, but that also entails bringing the mess of bedding down with her and crashing to the floor, apparently. It hurts like a bitch to make face-to-face contact with hardwood flooring, she now knows.

After a few slow, antagonizing minutes she peels herself off the floor and untangles herself from the bedspread extravaganza, tossing the blankets and sheets aside. She'll make her bed, really, just after breakfast and a mug of the strongest coffee ever brewed.

Levy plods down the stairs and makes a beeline for the kitchen. She prepares the coffee pot and turns the radio on before starting on breakfast. Small but nimble fingers turn the dial—she takes a moment even in her sleepy state to admire the mango-peach color of her nail polish—and the small device crackles to life. To be honest, that's about all it does. There's nothing _but _crackling and static and the occasional cut-in of someone screaming something she really can't make out.

It's odd, really unusual, but she isn't deterred. She listens to _Welcome to Night Vale_, she's experienced far stranger things than this. Besides, she does vaguely recall hearing about a new radio program airing on Saturday mornings—Magnolia Mystery Hour, or something like that. Levy just shrugs and turns the front burner on with a little 'click.'

She's in the middle of making eggs benedict and slathering toast with peach preserves when she first notices something is off. The radio is still doing its snap-crackle-incoherent screeching maybe messages-pop thing, but that doesn't really alarm her. What does, though, is that the morning paper is late. She knows that she's being fickle, okay, but seriously. She and the paperboy have a _schedule_—one that they've been following for like three _months_—and now this. Besides, she always reads the Saturday morning paper over breakfast on, well, Saturdays.

(She knows that she sounds like a mid-forties suburban dad, okay, but honestly she's seventeen and likes to stay well-informed, thank you very much.)

Levy rolls her eyes and huffs before taking her eggs off the burner and shutting it off. She picks up a piece of toast and shuffles toward the front door, her teddy bear slippers sliding across the floor. She fully intends to park herself on the front porch and wait for the paper.

At least, until she flings the door open and is met with the sight of what appears to be a scene out of a horror movie, complete with the undead FedEx guy chasing Mrs. Winters down the street.

Well.

That just—

That just explained so much.

She's about to slam the door shut again when she hears it—the whirring noise. It's constant, fast, and coming towards her at what is apparently, an impressive speed. Levy turns and—wonder of all wonders—there is the paperboy on his bike, pedaling towards her like a bat straight out of hell.

He screeches to a full halt in front of the walk leading toward her house while she gapes at him. It's only then that she realizes that this boy isn't the regular kid, but a different one.

"Sorry Miss," he checks the name on the paper, "McGarden. Jasper's sick with the flu or something—didn't let me know until six forty-five this _morning_—and so I had to take his route. That's why your paper is late."

In her peripheral vision, Levy sees the FedEx zombie finally catch her neighbor and bite into her. Then she recognizes the kid standing in front of her, and also realizes that he is still somehow miraculously unaware of the chaos going on around them.

He tosses the paper onto the brick walk in front of her and prepares to peddle away. "Sorry again. I have to go—"

"Romeo," she says very suddenly, hurrying down her front porch steps, arm outstretched, "come here."

He blinks. "Oh, hi Levy. What—"

"Romeo," she tries again, voice rising an octave, "what are you—_just_," Levy practically yanks him off his bike.

The fourteen-year-old shrieks as all the papers left from Jasper's route scatter across the pavement, but she's too preoccupied with dragging him away from the flash-eating zombies to care.

"Get inside if you want to live!"

She shouts at him as she pulls him through the front door and slams it shut just as a construction worker with his intestines dragging on the ground reaches Romeo's bike. Said boy gawks and starts to flail as she begins locking the door. "Holy _shit_," he swears, "what the crap. How did I miss the freaking _zombie apocalypse_?"

Levy slides the last lock into place and brushes a stray curl behind her ear. "I think you were too busy trying to get me my morning paper."

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(_x_)

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Erza Scarlet is busy baking strawberry crème crepes when the world as she knows it ends. The television program on in her living room abruptly switches from a show about the cutest animals in the world to a frantic reporter shouting words she can't really understand. She slides the last batch of crepes into the oven and brushes her hands off on the apron tied around her waist before slipping into the room.

The city behind him looks like something out of one of those dumb movies Natsu likes to watch, and she briefly wonders if this is one of them. Further inspection shows that it is not, in fact, a flick about the impending and '_oh shit it's here_' apocalypse, but that the world has been suddenly overrun by the living dead. Like, for real.

How utterly cliché.

What a way to start out your Saturday morning.

She stares at the tv with wide eyes as the reporter on front of her is eaten before her; the screen goes to the colorful error slide and screeching ensues. Erza's mind is racing, but it isn't really getting anywhere, when something slams into her front door. She jumps and nearly falls over the couch, but slowly makes her way over to see what the cause of the noise is.

Cautiously, she peers through the peephole.

It's a zombie, because what else could it have been?

The dead but undead thing makes a low groaning noise and throws itself at her door again, causing her to jump back. She has to get out of her—her home might be safe now, but not for long. Her friends are also probably in danger, or doing something stupid and putting themselves in harm's way, and she has to make sure that they're alright.

Erza unties her apron and hangs it on a hook. Grandpa Rob had never owned any guns, and she doesn't either, so she's going to have to improvise. Her gaze lands on the firepoker hanging innocently next to the fireplace, and her lips twitch. The banging on her door is getting louder, and it's likely the would-be intruder is throwing himself onto it harder.

Most of her street seems oddly clear though, but she knows that looks can be deceiving. She has to find a way out of here and locate her friends. Then they can try and make it somewhere safer.

The oven timer starts to go off, and she blinks.

But first, her crepes.

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(_x_)

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"Shoo! Get out of here! Shoo!"

Wendy swats at the preschoolers with her umbrella, squealing and trying to keep them as far away from her as possible. They've cornered her on the playground, and she has nowhere to go. She manages to whack a redheaded boy missing his whole left hand that's gotten particularly too close in the face with the umbrella. He stumbles backward, and his forehead splits open on impact, blood and other unidentifiable nasty-looking fluids splattering the surrounding area.

She shrieks and her body shudders subconsciously at the sight. Glancing behind her, she grabs onto the weird climbing structure unique to their park and scrambles up it. The assorted mix of undead preschoolers and school-age children are still trying to reach her, but they apparently can't climb the funky play sculpture.

Breathing a sigh of relief, and she leans back a little. The thing is like seven feet tall—technically it's probably a safety hazard, but hey—so she's safe. For now, anyway. Dying by a gaggle of zombie children hadn't really been on her agenda for today, and she plans to keep it that way.

She can't say so much for being attacked by them, though.

Wendy peers down at the moaning and gurgling small mass of infected kids and whimpers. She knows that she has to take them out at some point—or else _she'll _be the one down and out for the count—but she's not quite ready yet. They're probably not even that much younger than she is, and they were some loving parents' babies at a time.

_Were_ being the key word in that sentence, because now they're just a bunch of mindless zombies trying to eat her.

What a time to be alive, truly.

She sniffles and pulls her legs up to her chest, careful to keep her balance lest he fall to her certain death by the undead. The bloodied umbrella is hooked onto her right arm. It's black—not really hers, but some poor unfortunate soul's who'd been attacked and hadn't made it out alive—and she thinks that it's suiting.

But honestly, _zombies_, of all things? This is beyond ridiculous—it's almost entirely unbelievable. Except, you know, _not. _The bodies littering the streets and the graying children snapping their jaws beneath her are proof of that. She buries her tear-stained face in her skirt and tries to not cry. It's not very easy.

Five minutes, she tells herself. She's giving herself five minutes to get it together and then she's going to climb down and take care of the zombies trying to eat her. Kids or no kids. It's not like they're actually _human _anymore, and they probably can't even really sense pain. That is what she tries to convince herself, anyway.

At three minutes and forty-two seconds, the sound of a struggle and other weird noises makes her look up, and ultimately, down. All the zombie schoolchildren have been dispatched, and standing in the midst of them is a teenager with wild blue hair. He glances up at her—he has a _facial tattoo, is he some kind of delinquent?_—and smiles. He offers a hand, the one not holding the bloody crowbar.

"Hey," he says, "why don't you come down from there?"

She blinks, but complies.

Wendy climbs down from her perch, trying very hard not to look at the decapitated bodes around them, and he helps her over the head of the boy who she'd previously hit with the umbrella.

"I'm Jellal," he introduces, and she nods, bottom lip trembling. "How about we get out of here?"

She slips her hand into his, and tries to smile.

It comes off as more of a twitching grimace.

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(_x_)

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Lucy peeks around the side of the house, towards the forest. Everything seems clear, with the few stragglers still around spread out on the ground behind her, missing their heads. She's always been kind of squeamish around blood and killing and well, _missing extremities_, at least until she became friends with Natsu. She cleaned him up after fights, and so that kind of toughened her up some. Because Natsu got himself into a lot of fights.

But.

Decapitating former people who've been trying to make a meal of you is completely different.

She blanches, and slips from her concealed spot. It's about a fifteen minute powerwalk to Fairy Tail, yet, and something isn't right. She can already feel it settling into her bones, can hear Natsu's dumb voice in her head mumbling something about things being 'too easy' and 'fucking quiet.' Of course, at the time she'd been seated next to him while he and Gray were playing video games. Totally different situation, but still the same feeling.

It's a gut-feeling, and Lucy knows that all the television shows and movies always advise to trust gut-feelings.

Still, this is the fastest way to her destination, and the closest. She prays that Levy and Wendy are okay, because her best friend always goes on runs in the early morning hours on weekends, and the younger girl likes taking walks to the bakery downtown for their blueberry muffins. It's Magnolia—the perfectly safe town named after pretty flowering trees—and nothing bad ever happens in Magnolia. Except, apparently, the zombie apocalypse.

But that's just this one-time thing.

So anyway, back to the problem at hand. She's hurrying along, and everything is going great, which is also very bad. Especially when the rumbling starts. Lucy pauses, head titled upward and ax hanging loosely at her side, and swallows. It's coming closer, steadily and surely, and it sounds like—like—

It sounds like footsteps?

"What the hell?!"

Something peeks over the hill, and that's when the blonde starts to panic.

Because _zombies, a whole horde of zombies is coming straight for her like a freight train of inevitable death. _There are undead walkers of all shapes and sizes, ethnicity and occupations, and they are not slowing down. Her breathing promptly stops, and she goes very, very still.

Her eyes slowly slide from her sure doom to the line of trees bordering the forest, and she makes a split-second decision that probably saves her life. Lucy bolts for the treeline, and, finding a huge oak and deeming it acceptable, she scrambles to climb up it in time.

She's never been an expert at climbing trees—that's more of Natsu's domain—but she manages. She's grabbing branches and hauling herself up like someone grabbing items on Black Friday, mumbling unintelligible things under her breath. A scream rips from her mouth as a hand grabs her brand new pink Chucks and she promptly kicks the undead soccer mom in the face and tears her foot free.

By the time she's some nine or so feet high, clinging to the tree branches like they're her life line (because they kind of _are_) the massive horde of zombies has reached her. They drag themselves over the spot she'd been standing in only a minute or so before, and she shudders violently.

Well, she thinks, now what?

_tbc._

**end notes: **i'm so tired and also hungry but mostly tired. review?


	3. iii

**notes: **someone write me an _infamous second son _au with natsu as delsin pronto _pretty please. _but like, with a happier, slightly altered storyline. i'd love you forever and ever. also, do not be shy about pm-ing me or anything, i like talking to you guys.  
**dedication: **to _the raven cycle_; noah czerny and ronan lynch in particular.

.

.

.

(_a zombie memoir, or how Jellal Fernandez learned that Erza Scarlet is the Baddest Bitch  
on the block, and subsequently fell in love with a possible Yankee._)

.

**act iii**

let's start a riot, _or_ wish i may, wish i might, slay some zombies and start a fight

.

{_i'm sure that they figured it out early on, that i would never run_}

.

—

Gray has been in a lot of stressful situations in his lifetime. Some prime examples are school shopping with Ur, being best friends with Natsu, Ultear's gym meets, freshman year, living with Lyon in general, and Loke's mental breakdown regarding Lucy's refusal to go out with him, period—just to name a few.

Hanging onto the handle above the door for dear while whilst Gajeel performs standard evasive movements with his Jeep through a zombie-infested town is not one of them. At least, it hadn't been until now.

The monstrosity of a Jeep—lovingly nicknamed 'Pantherlily', but also known as The Beast, the Widowmaker, and "that damn nuisance" by friends and lastly fellow neighborhood dwellers—swerves to the right, and Gray watches the world swim before his eyes. It may be a shitty world they're living in, and maybe even worse now, what with the reanimated dead roaming the streets searching for human flesh, he still wants to remain among the non-zombified. Or at least not among the percentage killed in a freak car accident, which seems to be the most likely case right now.

He's fairly certain of several things at this point, and they are a) that what they're doing basically qualifies as reanimated corpse bowling, which has b) _got _to be bad for the vehicle they're doing it in, and c) may cost him his breakfast at least, and his life at most. He hasn't felt this queasy since that one time when Natsu dared him to eat five funnel cakes and then ride all the spinning rides at the county fair.

Everything passes in a trippy, warped blur outside, and he has to close his eyes for a few moments as Gajeel mows—_mows_—down two more of the walking dead. Their guts and mushy parts splatter all over the windshield and the sides of Pantherlily, and Gray feels like throwing up for the seventeenth time today. Agitated beyond all human measure, Gajeel flips on the windshield wipers for the fifth time and lets his hand hover over the lever before deciding just to leave them on.

The reason that they are driving like mad men through hordes of zombies is a complicated matter that's actually two reasons, who both have startlingly blue hair and an overwhelming sense of naivety towards life, and are probably currently out _there_—with horror movie creatures thirsting for their brains and chasing them down.

Gajeel plows through another horde and Gray watches in morbid fascination as they explode, limbs flying in all directions. "Maybe," he muses out loud, "we should just attach a snow plow. It'd save us a helluva lotta trouble."

His carmate grumbles and swears under his breath. Gray catches choice phrases like "that damn Shrimp" and "fucking zombie apocalypse on the worst damn day" but also "need to make sure", and he pieces the rest together. Gajeel has been nursing a crush on Levy for a while, but hadn't said anything about it _ever, _and now he has to live with the fact that she could be dead, or dying, or one of _them. _That had to hurt like a bitch, and probably explained why he was currently breaking every speed law known to mankind and driving like a maniac.

And then there was Juvia.

She'd been Gajeel's friend before anyone else, and they'd known each other forever. She was too pretty for her own good, too quiet and timid to even have a normal conversation with him most of the time, and also in the middle of this mess. Gray clenches his fist that he is not using to keep himself upright and grinds his teeth. He isn't going to think about it. Not about her running for her life, not about her being caught with decaying hands and dragged back by her ankles. Not about her crying, reaching out and calling his name before they—

His teeth clamp together so hard his jaw _aches. _

Gajeel makes a completely last-minute turn and everything turns with him. Gray flails and momentarily wonders what good his seat belt is even doing him, and why state regulations required them if he was sliding all over the place even when he was wearing one, before he notices that they're near the Transportation Department storage grounds.

Also, another thing. Gajeel definitely needed to invest in one of those things that held the seatbelt back and kept it from decapitating you aka slitting your throat because Gray feels like he's being attacked every time Gajeel slams on the brakes. Granted, it's not happening very often, but enough that he's sure there's a pretty and pretty good sized red stripe running along his neck. The skin there feels like it's been rubbed raw.

"Dude, what are you doing."

The mechanic of their friend group looks at him with his admittedly intimidating red eyes. They're practically glowing with a plan, and Gray is eager to know what it is.

Gajeel points to one of the looming storage buildings, and smirks. "I heard somethin' 'bout making 'Lily into a snowplow, and I thought, 'why the hell not? Y'never know when the weather'll get shitty.'"

Gray likes the plan.

So in an amazing record of time, they hook up a decent-sized metal scraper to Patherlily, which only serves to make it look more like an equally metal deathtrap. Gray supposes that they could just abscond with one of the _actual _roadtrucks already equipped with a plow, but Gajeel would never agree to it. Lily was his pride and joy—weird scrape that resembled more of a scar than anything on the left side and all—so there was no way in hell that he would ditch it for a bigger rig. Oh well, those things sucked up gasoline like an alcoholic drained bottles.

All that's left is to continue scouring Magnolia for Levy and Juvia, but they also need a battle plan.

Now where was Natsu when you actually fucking needed him?

.

(_x_)

.

On some side street across town, Natsu carefully makes his way towards Fairy Tail, Igneel Dragneel's rifle slung over his shoulder. He's prepared for an attack on all fronts, though it would be Very Bad if he happens upon a horde, or vice versa. He's been fortunate enough to not come across one or two already, and it's starting to make him suspicious. But then, it's also not his fault that he lives the farthest from Fairy Tail than the rest of his friends.

So, left to his own devices and an estimated hour or so of walking time, his mind starts to wander. Not too far, of course, because Rule Number Three is definitely to Stay Focused or Else. 'Or Else' entailing a brutal death by being torn apart and made into an appetizer. This could also be applied to traveling in the Amazon.

But, even though he'd been preparing for this event for years, he wonders why it came about all of a sudden. The actual _likelihood _of zombies taking over the world and eating everyone still alive was pretty slim, even he knew that, and yet. Is it the result of a deadly bioweapon turned virus? Or did some poor soul just randomly burst out of their grave and bite an even more unfortunate person and thus the vicious cycle was born?

By all accounts, it makes zero sense. And thinking about it too much makes his head hurt.

Anyway, unleashing the end of the world was such a dick move, especially an end by zombies. Lucy's probably pissed, wherever she is. Sting also owed him fifty bucks from that time where they bet on exactly _how _the world would end. Takeover by robots his ass, he's _living _the apocalypse, and there are no mind-controlling machines in sight. Just bodies that are falling apart and devouring other bodies.

Which? _Nas-tay. _

A flash of blue in his peripheral catches his attention, and for a second he thinks it might be Juvia or Levy or maybe even Wendy, but he also grabs the rifle and flips the safety off. Cautiously but in his still reckless way, he steps over to the truck pulled off to the side of the pavement. Its windows are smashed, though not completely, and it's dented in weird spots. Natsu peers into the backseat window on the left side and is surprised at what he finds.

Wide brown eyes blink up at him, and small hands cling to the straps of a green backpack.

It's a kid. There is a kid in the middle of an abandoned street, all by himself, hiding in a broken-down pickup.

The older brother in Natsu instantly rears its head, and he lowers the rifle and clicks the safety back on. "Hey, what are you doing out here by yourself?"

_He has blue hair just like the girls, _he thinks to himself, _weird. I've never seen him before. _

Tiny John Doe is also wearing jean overalls and a striped orange shirt, which is somewhat of a culture shock to Natsu, and he glances at the license plate. It's out of state, and covered in mud. The kid in the truck is still peering up at him in what looks like awe, but doesn't say a word.

He wishes Lucy were here; she'd know what to ask, and what to say.

"Uh," he begins tentatively, "are you…you're not from around here are you?"

Small nameless child shakes his head. Okay, so that's a no—they're making progress. He scratches his head and makes a quick survey of the surrounding area, which is still hollowly empty. Natsu turns back to the kid who looks to be around seven and makes a noise in the back of his throat. "Okay so…I know it must be comfortable in there and all, but uh, you look kinda hungry and I have snacks?"

_Oh, way to go, Natsu. Approach a little kid and offer him food? That's like the first creeper move known to humanity. Kidnapper 101: Lure the Subject Away with Free Food and a Nice Smile and then Snatch Them! He's probably gonna kick you, or run off screaming and bring all the undead to you. Great plan. If Gray and Gajeel were here, they'd laugh at you while Lucy screams about STRANGER DANGER, MORON and THAT'S NO WAY TO TALK TO A CHILD YOU NETHANDREAL. _

Natsu suffers in misery and almost doesn't notice the door opening and the boy hopping out. He grabs onto Natsu's jacket and looks up at him with his still-wide eyes. Okay, so they were obviously going to have a lengthy chat about the threat of Stranger Danger later, that much is clear. He sighs and mentally congratulates himself for making it this far without any tears or screeching, and pulls a package of cheese and crackers from his backpack.

Small Too-Trusting Kid takes it from him and tears into it immediately, stuffing at least two into his mouth at once. Natsu watches on in surprise, and decides to see if he can phish for any more info. "Sooo," he tries, leaning against the hood of the truck and crossing his arms, "you live on a farm or somethin', kid?"

Surprisingly Vigorous Kid nods his head in affirmation, and offers a cracker to Natsu, who holds out a hand in a declining motion. "With your parents, right? Where are they, do you know?"

Blue Cheese and Cracker Child shakes his head again, harden than before, and Natsu sighs. "Okay, well, how about you stick with me for a little while, uh…" he catches a glimpse of a word on the pocket of the boy's worn green backpack, "I'm gonna call you Happy for now, okay? Is that good?"

Receiving a nod in response, he moves on. "Right so, it can be you and me, okay Happy? I'm looking for my friends, and I think you can help. Can you?"

Happy nods several times, and grins. He's missing like three teeth, but the rest are pearly white, and his expression makes his new name more sensible. Natsu nods, and grins back at him before offering a hand.

"Okay, let's go!"

.

(_x_)

.

So Jellal and Wendy were currently stuck in what one would call a pinch. Other synonyms include, but are not limited to: a pickle, a sticky situation, and _uh oh here's trouble. _

Wendy did not like guts, or gore, or blood, or anything remotely gross and relating to dead bodies. But here they were, surrounded by at least five former grown ups all reaching for them with spindly fingers. She can see phalanges sticking out of some of them, and it makes her insides crawl.

She grips Jellal's jacket tighter and tries to calm her trembling. It doesn't work as well as she'd hoped though, and her knees still knock together while her teeth chatter. One of the zombies—she _still _can't believe the realness of using that term—the one with a toupee somehow still clinging to his head, swings at them, and she screams. Jellal pushes her farther behind him and grips the crowbar in his hand a little tighter.

All she can think of is two things, one being: _we're going to die we're going to die we're going to die. _

The other nagging at the back of her mind in a terrifying voice that says, _you left the stove on. _

She's not sure which is worse, but probably the former, although the prospect of dying _and _starting a neighborhood-wide fire isn't all that appealing either. What about all those things her mother taught her about kitchen safety? _Don't leave the burner on, Wendy. Don't touch the pan while it's still hot without mitts, Wendy. Don't forget to wash your hands before cooking anything, Wendy. And remember, never forget to shut the stove off, Wendy. _

If she weren't on the verge of crying already, she'd definitely be well on her way there.

The creepy former-people are moaning and groaning and getting closer, and Jellal turns around to look at her. "Close your eyes, okay? Stay behind me and keep them closed. I promise it'll all be over soon."

Her lips tremble and her eyes are watering but she nods her head quickly, three times in succession, and closes her eyes tight, _tight, tighter. _She feels Jellal shift, probably into a better fighting position, and waits. The permanently borrowed umbrella presses uncomfortably into her side, but she doesn't pay much attention to it. Her mind is still trying to process the fact that they're going to be killed by zombies. _Zombies. _

"Are your eyes closed?" he questions, voice quiet and careful. She lets out an affirmative squeak.

There's a horrible shriek from one of the walkers as Jellal smashes into it with the metal bar, and it makes a sickening _squishing _sound. Everything seems to happen like someone's fast-forwarding the next few minutes, after that.

The rest of the undead lunge at the same time, and she hears Jellal swear under his breath. It's a little frightening because he doesn't seem like the type to curse. There's grunting and panting and awful, tortured sounds coming from the small horde attacking them, and Wendy wishes she couldn't hear either. Then, she feels the body in front of her being pushed roughly to the side, and both she and Jellal tumble to the ground.

"Keep your eyes closed!"

She's crying and the dragging sound is intensifying and getting closer and they're going to die no way not now _they're going to die. _Jellal pulls her close to him and she buries her face in his shirt, eyes still closed.

And just when she's sure it's about to be over, just when Jellal starts to shake, just when she can smell the awful stench of rotting bodies so close-up for the first and last time, _something _happens.

There's the greatest battle cry she's ever heard, and then the sound of a massive struggle. Jellal tucks her back into a corner and presumably picks up his crowbar again to have another go-round. She doesn't see the fight—doesn't _want _to—but when Jellal calls for her to open her eyes, when it's all over, she sees the aftermath.

First of all, body parts and heads still lolling on the ground are everywhere. That's enough to want to make her close her eyes again, but she doesn't. Because there'd been something strange about Jellal's fighting partner, she already knew. And when they both look at their savior—Wendy for the first time, and Jellal _seemingly _for the first time—the truth slams into them like a freight train.

It's a girl.

Erza Scarlet lowers her bloody fire poker and reaches to wipe her hands off on her pretty skirt, but apparently changes her mind last-minute. She smiles at Wendy, who shakily waves back, not trusting her expression to be anything other than terrified still. Then she glances at Jellal.

And promptly faints.

_tbc._

**end notes: **so i did human!happy. what up. also yeah this sucks but what can you do.


	4. iv

**notes: **i wrote this up at two am don't shoot me. **  
****dedication: **to amenah, who deserves so much better than this piece of trash.

.

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(_a zombie memoir, wherein girls get shit done and that's about it._)

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**act iv**

cheerleaders are vicious, _or_ i broke a nail and now i'll break your face

.

{_the danger is i'm dangerous and i might just tear you apart_}

.

—

Mirajane is on top of a barstool writing today's specials in bright-colored chalk on the board. She mumbles the checklist aloud to herself: soups, salads, sides, drinks—iced tea, she notes with a twitchy left eye. Again. For the third time this week. She likes iced tea just as much as anyone else who does, but this is really pushing it okay, and she's going to have to have a word with whoever is writing up the menu. And if they simply insist on making iced tea the special, then she is simply going to pour a pitch of it over their head.

Brushing the extra chalk dust on her apron, she delicately descends from her wobbly perch and hops to the tiled floor. Fairy Tail is strangely empty, even for nine in the morning. Usually there were dozens of people popping in and out for breakfast or coffee or something, but she has yet to see one soul today. The weekend cook hasn't come in yet either, or her shift partner. Mira glances up at the clock ticking away and narrows her eyes.

Speaking of shifts and absentee workers, Cana still isn't walking through the doors. It's Saturday, so logically the brunette should already be smacking away on her gum, dressed in the short ugly-orange and red uniform with the zipper down too low, and complaining about her sketchy side business. But she is, in fact, not lazing around cutting tarot cards and applying a copious amount of dark lipstick or chatting up friends who walk through the door instead of actually taking their orders.

Kianna is rooting around somewhere in the storage room, looking for the ever elusive extra notepads and pens. Bless her heart, this morning she came in wearing snakeskin heels and wobbling like Bambi on ice. "I can't do this," she'd mumbled, and then informed the other girl that she was taking a double shift. She too kind, and takes double shifts all the time—usually covering for (surprise, surprise) Cana, but without actually covering for her. The short-haired girl claimed that it was 'the wildest coincidence' but Mirajane knew better. In her own biased opinion, Cana is out too much and Kianna needed to get out _more_.

She thinks about her younger brother and sister probably still sleeping back at home. They're the reason she's working this job, she reminds herself, even though in all honesty it isn't that bad. The pay is decent enough, and sometimes she gets to take leftovers home, and—

Her late coworker bursts through the door, the tiny bell dangling above it going nuts, and slams it shut behind her. "Zombies," she chokes out, hair sticking out in all directions and a panicked expression on her face.

Mira looks up from the glass she's cleaning just in time to see Cana sprint across the room, jump several tables and chairs, and then proceed to hurdle the counter and slide across it like she's James Bond.

Mira sighs. "Have you been day-drinking again?"

"_No_," Cana says petulantly, "this is serious, Mirajane. He tried to _eat me_. I know I'm hot and all, but that is so far from okay. The cute guy from the coffee shop—" she pauses and shudders, fingers curling, "you wouldn't fucking_ believe_—"

The doors crash open again at the same time Mira's about to ask if they need to stage an intervention. She puts that thought on hold and slips it into her back pocket for safekeeping and a later, at-length discussion. She puts on her prettiest 'hello, how are you, what can I get you today smile?' and grabs a menu from the neat stack on the counter and swings around.

"Good morning, how may I—_oh my goodness gracious_!"

Kianna chooses this moment to walk out of the back, several pads and pens in her hands. She drops them all and screams.

His eyes are blacker than Laxus Dreyar's mythical soul, he's missing most of his hair, and his jaw is snapping. There is literal foam—_foam_—cascading from his mouth and as he makes a grab for her, Mira thinks that either Cana hasn't been drinking at all, or she's the one who has.

Kianna is flailing and Cana is doing that creepy peeping thing from behind the counter while screaming at her all the while, and Mirajane thinks, _why can't I just have a normal workday just once_?

Before he can touch her, she ducks under his rotting arm and stumbles away. The nasty thing seems to forget her as soon as it sees Kianna, and it takes a step toward her. She frantically attempts to turn the knob on the supply room door and seriously, damn the manager for not getting that faulty lock fixed sooner. She's going to die and it's all because they have astonishingly lazy management. But before she becomes cannibal's delight, Mira handsprings across the room, vaulting herself off the floor with grace, and lands behind them. She grabs the nearest chair by its legs and slams it into the dead thing. Icky-colored blood and guts splatter everything in the perimeter, and all three girls cringe.

The zombie isn't dead though, and Kianna scrambles back as Cana tosses Mirajane something from the kitchen. She catches the metal pole, twirls, and swings it at the gross thing's head—which goes crashing out the window. ("Nasty," Cana comments from behind the counter.)

They watch in silence as it rolls in the street before coming to a stop, the two holes where eyes should be but aren't staring back at them.

Mira lowers her hand and the pole, and walks over the broken window. She pulls the string and the shades smack into the window frame, effectively blocking view of the street.

Cana marvels, awestruck. "Where the hell did you learn to do _that_?"

"I was cheer captain for three years," the other waitress turns and gives her a sheepish smile.

.

(_x_)

.

"Well that wasn't in any way terrifying or scarring," Lucy mutters as she carefully eases herself down from her hiding spot. She puts one foot against the trunk and both hands on the handle of her ax in an attempt to pull it free. She'd swung it into the tree after the danger had passed so she could climb down without cutting off one of her _own_ limbs.

She brushes bark residue off her shirt and grimaces at her surroundings, coming to the decision that she needs to get off the man road as fast as humanly possible. those zombies had been trying to get at her for _hours_, and the only reason she's even on solid ground now and now still holding the title of 'world's actual best tree hugger' is because some poor, unlucky suckers had run past her. Instead of trying to claw their way to a seemingly unreachable target, the walkers had apparently made a communal decision to get a meal on the run. Literally.

(_Real fast food_, she thinks and laughs at her own bad joke. then she clamps her mouth shut and wonders if this apocalypse thing is driving her insane. Or maybe it was just that five hour stint where an old oak tree was her best friend, and she had to seriously pee for the last three.)

Lucy cautiously peers around before high-tailing it to any other street besides main. All she wants to do is curl up in a ball and cry. Or maybe lock herself away from the world with a consoling cup of hot chocolate and five-hundred page novel. A mani-pedi sounds nice too, but that's absolutely out of the question. Really, there's only one thought plaguing her mind, rising above all others and far surpassing the danger alarm going off in her head.

"I gotta pee like crazy bad," she whispers to herself.

And she's hungry, okay. So frickin' hungry. She hasn't eaten anything in like, six hours. That is two hours too many, and even then, it was a strawberry Danish. Curse her petty inableness to refuse Juvia's (super, extremely tempting) offer for breakfast. Which, by the way, _she never got_.

All because the world decided to end by zombie infestation.

She's really mad, okay, and she's not going to die until she can at least find someone to vent and scream her frustrations to. And even then she's not going to die, mainly because she refuses to be killed by zombies. _Ugh. _

Something moving down the street makes her duck for cover. Normally, she wouldn't be able to notice things like this, but after spending five hours up in a tree, she's become one with Mother Nature and has enhanced hearing like a bat. Whatever it is, it's quiet, probably trying not to be seen. Her hopes soar—is it another living human being? Is her luck finally taking a turn for the better? Her father always did use to say that she was her parents' "Lucky Lucy."

Then again, it could also be a walker searching for food.

_Wow Lucy, helpful much_?

She peers around the corner, mostly because there's no other way of proving or disproving her theories, and almost bursts into song at what she sees. 'Let's Dance to Joy Division' seems fittingly appropriate.

Throwing all caution to the wind—well, not really, she checked both ways five times before running out into the open—she sprints across the street and after the figure. "Juvia," she breathes, not even caring about the bloodied shovel in the other girl's hands. "You're alive."

Juvia is equally as ecstatic, though Lucy doubts she'd spent the better half of the day clinging to a stick for dear life. "Lucy!"

The blonde pulls Juvia into a hug. "You're real. That's good. I wasn't sure if I was hallucinating for about—since I stupidly ran out here to check."

Juvia looks at the ax smeared with blood and odd chunks of flesh so close to her face with some concern, but otherwise hugs her friend back. Lucy pulls back and huffs some fringe out of her eyes. "So. Zombies."

"Insane," Juvia agrees.

Lucy gestures helplessly to the world falling apart around them.

There's a moment of silence—eerie, unsettling silence that's been looming over them all day; the world is nothing _but_ silent unless you're being chased by the undead—before they both speak at the same time.

"Have you seen Gray?"

"Did you see Natsu?"

They stare at each other, then avert their gazes in burning embarrassment. Lucy is the first to break the gloomy air that's settled in around them. "I um, I haven't seen Gray today. I'm sorry."

Juvia nods, barely meeting her eyes. "Natsu's probably fine. He has an awful lot of canned Manwich in his pantry."

The blonde laughs, then scoffs. "Yeah well, you haven't seen his linen closet. The moron practically lives off of spray cheese and bologna. He's helpless."

"Except for the fact that he's been preparing for this his whole life."

She does not say 'zombie apocalypse' because it's not really something either of them like to talk about. Or want to acknowledge is actually happening more than absolutely necessary.

Lucy runs her arm. "Gray's a tough guy. He can eat like twelve snow cones and not get a brain freeze. Also, remember that time when he got locked out of his house in his boxers in the middle of winter? There was like three feet of snow and he was okay. Pretty sure he's a freak of nature at this point, but."

Juvia cracks a weak laugh, and they share a small smile. The thought strikes the blonde that they should probably get going like ASAP, but for a second, it's nice to pretend that everything is normal and they're just two teenage girls talking like the world isn't dying around them. And that's when the familiar but horrifying sound starts.

The pounding of feet, the low groan of dozens of dead beings all at once, the onslaught of zombies headed straight toward them. Predictable, really, she should have known.

"Holy shit," Lucy breathes. "They've returned."

Juvia gives her a look that clearly says, 'you're my friend but I think you might have lost your mind.' the blonde waves her away and heaves her ax up. "Long story that we really don't have time for right now. But those guys," she points at the horde just coming into view—it's smaller than before, though, so that's good—and looks at her friend, "are no bueno."

There's a lady in a shoddy velour pink sweatsuit leading the pack, and Lucy's lip curls up in disgust. She swings her ax into position, beside her, Juvia raises her shovel in a menacing way. Despite the fact that she doesn't look very menacing wearing a flower crown and a floral print skirt, but hey. Badassery does not judge, and it looks great in pretty clothing.

"So what's the plan, Lucy?"

The blonde glances at her friend from her peripheral. "Reach Fairy Tail as soon as possible and look for Natsu because he's a crazy bastard who hordes protein bars and rock climbing equipment. But for now," she braces herself, "seek and destroy."

.

(_x_)

.

Lisanna wakes up to the smell of something burning.

Or she thinks that she's awake, anyway. It's a bit hard to tell because everything is dark and her eyes feel like they've been glued shut for ages. She wonders if this is what Sleeping Beauty felt like when she awoke from her cursed slumber. Only, at least she was kissed awake and not brought back to consciousness because of the putrid smell of…whatever that is.

She blinks groggily and attempts to sit up, but decides against it. Her body feels like she's been hit head-on by a truck—another side effect she's sure that Aurora didn't have to endure in the fourteenth century. Also, there's something heavy blocking her front sitting up very far, and she can't move it. Instead, she lies on the asphalt and tries to remember how she got to where she is now.

As it turns out, the only thing she can recall is Mirajane leaving the house at six this morning for Fairy Tail. Two hours later, she dragged herself downstairs for breakfast—toaster waffles drowned in syrup and smothered with peanut butter, collapsed onto the couch to watch a movie, and—

That's about it.

Which is crazy, because for some reason it feels like it's been hours since then. What could have possibly—oh gosh, had she been in a car accident? Is she trapped under what's left of the vehicle? Does she have short-term amnesia? What about Mira? And Elfman? Where _is _her brother, anyway?

Her thoughts come to an abrupt halt when she hears footsteps coming toward her. Well, maybe not, but they're certainly out there, and she wants to be as well. She pounds her fists on whatever is on top of her—sounds and feels like metal—and starts to yell. Maybe it's the EMTs? Except, she didn't hear any sirens wailing from the ambulance. That's weird, it's super weird.

The footsteps pick up their pace and stop outside her makeshift prison. Another set comes pounding up the pavement, and there's an awful creak of crushed metal as she's freed. And temporarily blinded apparently.

Lisanna cringes and brings her hands to her face to shield it from the bright sun. "Eugh."

Hands reach down and lift her out of the—what is that? a _crater_?—she's in, and she wobbles when they stand her up. Squinting, she peeks at the somewhat familiar My Chemical Romance shirt. What? Where has she seen that before? The thought is eating away at the back of her mind and she swears it's on the tip of her tongue, but for some odd reason, it refuses to come out.

"Where am I? What happened?"

"You just slept through the end of the world, babe."

"Shut up, idiot. Give her some time. She was in a fucking _explosion_."

Wait. Wait a second. She knows those voices.

Lisanna's sight suddenly hits her at full force, and she's left to gawk up at the forms of Laxus Dreyar and Bixlow…she doesn't even knows his last name. They graduated with her sister, it's not like she knows them that well. But she _does _know them, and they don't usually carry bloodied makeshift weapons or go around saving girls from—wait, did Laxus say she was in an _explosion_?

She takes a shaky step toward them and almost trips over her own feet. "Did—did you say the end of the world? And that I was in an explosion?"

For the first time, she truly takes in the world around her. It is, for lack of a better word, burning. Magnolia looks exactly like a casualty town from one of those stupid horror flicks Mira used to love and Elfman would always cry through. And is that someone's head on a _stick_?

Bixlow grins down at her, and it makes her think he's slightly maniacal. "Welcome to the zombie apocalypse, sweetheart. You've got yourself a front row seat to the destruction of the world. Want some popcorn?"

"My _name_," she bites out, "is _Lisanna. _I'm Mirajane's younger sister. You know, the rocker chick you turned saint that you two graduated with? Have you seen my brother? He's like, yea high," she stands on her toes and holds her hand up as far as she can," with a bad scar on his face? Looks like he works out in the gym all day, every day. Is always raving about masculinity?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry honey, haven't seen him. You look like the only survivor of this mess. How'd you end up here, anyway?"

She scowls at him. "It's _Lisanna. _And I don't remember, jerk."

Laxus runs a hand through his hair—it always looks like he stuck scissors in an electric socket and got fried. "Well, listen kid. We gotta keep moving. We're looking for a friend. Your sister works at Fairy Tail, right? We can drop you off there if she's still around."

Lisanna mumbles something about not being a kid, and crosses her arms. "Fine. But we have to look for my brother too. He's important to me."

Bixlow throws his arms around both of them. "Yeah! In all the movies, it's always good to stay in groups."

Lisanna refrains from informing of the fact that almost everyone in those supposedly helpful groups usually _died_, and ducks out from under his elbow. This isn't a permanent thing, she tells herself. It's just until she can find her siblings. That's it.

_tbc._

**end notes: **also shoutout to _outcarnate. _i freaked when i read your review. seriously you're too kind. i am but a humble potato farmer compared to you okay.


	5. v

**notes:** school has stolen my soul and i'm under contract for the next seven months. send help. **  
****dedication: **to all those over dramatic westerns i've been watching all afternoon. and also thefourteenthdarkone.  
**ps. **amenah, basically: "marcy don't you dare drag cobra into this fucking mess he's fragile doN'T YOU DARE."  
me: "is that a dare i hear?"

.

.

.

(_a zombie memoir, wherein Cobra sees the light, but not really, and discovers heads will roll when Angel is around_—_literally._)

.

**act v**

pick on someone your own size, _or _bully the zombies instead of people you traitorous mongrel

.

{_i'm your dream girl, this is real love, don't you know what they say about me?_}

.

—

Angel has seen some shit.

Whether it be idiot football players almost exploding while on keggers, cheerleader initiations, her cousin's boyfriend's naked ass running from their house at two am, Black Friday sales at the mall, or Minerva without her morning double whip nonfat mocha latte—which is, by the way, is anything but pretty, that's for damn sure. However, none of it compares to the scene before her.

The world around her looks like some awful b-movie horror come to life. There's blood and body limbs strung _everywhere, _things are on fire, people are looting while simultaneously being caught and eaten alive by none other than the frickin reanimated dead, and she's already ruined the perfect manicure she just got _yesterday. _All in all, it either looks like a regular Saturday morning or the end of the world. Probably the end of the world, unless you lived in some freaky alternate universe where this was a thing.

In conclusion, everything pretty much fucking _sucked, _and she'd be damned if she didn't voice her opinions on the matter. Even though most of the time people referred to her doing such a thing as 'bitching.' So _what_? She deserved to bitch about the state of things every once in a while, especially now.

"You better be real fucking appreciative," she grinds out and slams a golf club into a zombie's head. It goes through the nasty thing's eye and she rips it back out. "I just got a manicure yesterday and that undead Wanna-Beyonce _annihilated it._"

Cobra grunts from somewhere behind her, and the girl rolls her eyes and smacks her gum obnoxiously. She knows it bothers him, and despite the deathly screams and overall undead moaning surrounding them, she also knows he can hear it.

"I want dinner at Olive Garden two times a week for this," Angel begins her list of demands. "And none of that 'Two for Twenty' shit unless I say so. You can't be stingy with me after this, you hear me Erik? I am pretty much the motherfucking Terminator right now, looking for your little girlfriend while defending both our lives from the damn walking dead. You cannot afford to be a fucking hardass penny-pincher or else I will let one of these undead bitches eat you instead."

She won't, actually, because he's her best friend and she loves him to death—wait, bad timing—but seriously. She also loves breadsticks and pasta. Honestly, she's going to shove some of those endless sticks of heaven into her purse next time she goes. There just isn't enough room in her stomach after eating a full meal, and that's a damn shame—but a damn shame that can and will be remedied. It's not like Erik can see her anyway.

Anyway, back to the situation at hand, aka the dooming point of humanity. She'd been at cheer practice early this morning to go over some new drills when it happened. Seriously, having to drag herself out of bed at seven on a Saturday morning and get her butt down to the football field just because she was vice captain of the cheer team was bad enough without the fucking apocalypse added on top of it.

It all happened very fast, now that she thinks back on it. She'd been looking over their routine and sipping on a bottle of blackberry tea when the first girl showed up to practice. Angel had looked up in annoyance, seeing as everyone was at least half an hour late, and squinted at Sue, ready to roast the junior girl. Except something was very off about her this morning. Her gold and Prussian blue uniform was torn—Angel almost started screeching right then and there, because wearing one of these prestigious uniforms was a fucking _honor_—and her posture was slack, movements sluggish.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sue? Did you go to that party at Michael's last night and get completely wasted?"

She half expected Sue to make some sort of biting retort because Michael was a complete fuckboy that all the sensible girls tried to avoid, but no. Instead, the girl lifted her head and Angel watched in increasing disgust as it rolled back at an odd angle. Okay, what the _fuck. _

"Sue, hey. Are you okay?"

And that was precisely when the former cheerleader lunged for her vice-captain, teeth snapping and eyes bulging, veins oddly noticeable all the way up her face. They matched her hair. Angel shrieked bloody murder and scrambled away, choosing to take the high route and make her escape up the bleachers. The chase lasted for about ten minutes until Angel was finally able to take zombie Sue's head off with a lacrosse stick some guy had left behind after practice. Looks like her three years of fast pitch softball hadn't been for nothing, after all.

So that's how she was almost killed by one of her bitchy teammates, and also how she was first alerted to the fact that something had gone seriously wrong in the world. Her first thought after that had been Cobra, because what the hell could a blind kid do against like a million zombies trying to eat him? But the death of her co-cheerleader still nagged at the back of her mind.

Oh, well, she always thought Sue's blue bob was tacky anyway. And her outfit choices—Angel places a hand over her heart and wonders how any self-respecting person could wear what Sue had called clothes.

"She wasn't at home," Cobra mutters to himself, breaking Angel out of her thoughts. She brushes some tears from her eyes, even though he can't see, and rolls her eyes. "She was supposed to be at home."

Angel gingerly brushes some brain matter off her letterman and huffs. "We'll find her, you blind bastard. Just think. Where would she go? Isn't today her day off?"

"Yeah, but sometimes she takes other people's shifts. I just didn't think she was doing that today," Cobra intones. He sounds worried. Hm.

Possibly because the mild-mannered Love of His Life is lost somewhere in a city crawling with zombies? Most likely.

This is not how her senior year was supposed to go. She was on the fast track for the best university in Crocus, and now she doubts that education even matters. It's all about survival at this point, apparently. Ah well, screw the world and its undead problem. She's so over it.

A walker—except it's more like a speed walker, considering the way it's coming at her—missing most of its hair and chomping the air with its gross yellow teeth, makes a grab for her. She pulls the club back in the air and swings. "FOUR!"

Its head goes flying through the air and lands in an open garbage can. She fist pumps. "All right, hole in one!"

"Are you using a golf club? Where'd you even get that thing?"

Angel tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Stole it."

He looks at her, even without really looking at her. Y'know, because of the whole bind thing. He looks judgey. Well excuse her.

(Kianna's really changed him. Angel thinks it's for the better.)

"It was from a dead guy, Erik. Shut down your judging; we're not in divorce court. Dead guys have no use for golf clubs. It's not like he's gonna wake up and go shoot eighteen down at the course," Angel snipes. "Relax. Besides, I'm sure he wouldn't mind me using it to—oh, I don't know—_keep us from ending up like him._"

Cobra straightens the collar of his jacket and exhales deeply. "Now who's sounding judgey?"

Another zombie, this one missing an arm, makes a go for him. She snarls and takes its head off—though this action requires a bit of hacking. Gross.

"And fuck you in particular," Angel spits as she sidesteps the corpse and takes Cobra by the hand, leading him on towards Fairy Tail.

Maybe this is why people started drinking at a young age.

.

(_x_)

.

Levy regards their surroundings with a sour expression. "Maybe it wasn't such a bright idea to leave the house."

Romeo is busy shoving almost everything from the mini-mart's shelves into his backpack, which is surprisingly bottomless. Seriously, he's running one hand along the items and pushing them all into the backpack he's holding open in his other. Cans and packages clash together and make an awful racket as he stocks up. Levy is standing guard by the door of the corner stop gas station, despite the fact that the glass is shattered and it's nothing but frame.

After much consideration, they'd decided to venture out into the unknown—properly prepared, of course. Or as prepared as they could be, considering Levy had no sports equipment but a tennis raquet. They opted to detach one of the metal pipes from her water line after switching it off and use that instead.

So far the both of them had managed to steer clear of any zombies, which she was thankful for. Her street had considerably quieted down, probably since there hadn't been any more people to devour, and they had only come into contact with one or two in the forty-five minutes they'd been out, and only from a distance. She'd decided that they should probably get some supplies while they were about, too, hence the reason they were hurriedly trying to make a quick stop at the 7/11 a couple blocks down the street from her house.

Romeo edged around some mushroom soup. "Done with the non-perishables. Moving onto the Funyuns section."

"This feels weird," Levy wrings her hands. "We're stealing. Oh my gosh. We're criminals."

Her partner in possibly perpetual crime grunts and stuffs a few bags of Doritos and pretzels into his paper bag when the backpack fills up. "Do you prefer nacho cheese or cool ranch?"

"Nacho cheese. Cool ranch Doritos are a disgrace to humanity and I will take no part in that catastrophe when we've got our own problems going on right here, thank you very much," Levy answers, eyes flitting around the exterior of the building.

Romeo slowly puts the family size bag of cool ranch Doritos back. "Ok_ay_, moving on then. We're not stealing technically, we're stealing hypothetically."

"How so?"

He gazes longingly at the Mtn. Dew calling to him from the beverage section. "Well, it _is _the apocalypse, right? And there's no one manning the counter, right? So _essentially, _that means the merchandise is up for grabs—you know, first come, first serve. We'd pay if there was someone here to take our money, but there isn't. Think of it this way: you don't have to worry about tax or some gross attendant hitting on you. Also, we're not really stealing if there's no one here to steal _from_."

_Probably because he's long-gone now. _

"You just bagged a fortune's worth of Spaghetti-O's," Levy begins slowly, thinking that maybe Romeo Conbolt is one of those kids who either goes on to become a super successful genius, or a criminal mastermind, "and yet you're giving me a speech on capitalism during the actual dawn of the dead. Child, I worry about you sometimes."

Romeo grins at her even though she's not looking, and drags his paper bag back to the refrigerator section. "So, do you want Snapple or Powerade or what?"

Levy squints at something in the distance that seems to be getting closer, but it's moving faster than a walker. Another living person, maybe? "Snapple, please. I like their peach tea the best."

The younger boy works in silence for a few minutes, occasionally glancing up at the security screens. They're nothing but static and an occasional horizontal bar running up and down the screen. The only sounds in the station is the hum of the refrigerators and the odd noises various drinks make when they bump each other as the teenager loads them into his bag.

Suddenly Levy straightens up and grips her pipe tighter. "Romeo," she calls out, voice strained, "stay behind me."

"What?" the boy's head flies up as he drops a bottle of tea to the floor, and it shatters upon impact. "Levy—"

A deep and grainy voice cuts him off, and Levy's stance becomes visibly rigid. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

She knows that voice, knows these people. It's been a while, but not long enough. She clenches her jaw and swallows. What are they doing here? There's no way she can hold her own against all of them, but it doesn't mean she can't try.

"If it isn't Redfox's woman," the sleazebag known as Jose Porla grins, and it's predatory. "My, my. I haven't seen you around in…what? Nine months, a year? How's the old boy doing, anyway? Come to think of it, I'm surprised he's not with you. After all, he did leave Phantom Lord for _you_," he sneers the last part.

Levy frowns and her eyes dart back to Romeo, hidden away somewhere behind the shelves. "He didn't leave your gang for me," she tries to sound strong, "he left because you were awful to him, and he was tired of doing bad things."

The taller and broader one—who, to Romeo, resembles a brick wall—starts to wail. "Isn't it so sad? Black Steel left us for this girl, and now he isn't even here to protect her!"

Jose doesn't normally go with the hands-on approach, but this girl is the reason one of the best members of Phantom Lord defected, and no one is going to notice anything odd about a single girl dying in the apocalypse. He reaches out for her, grin sinister.

Levy responds by swinging the end of the pole into his stomach as hard as she can, sending him reeling. She twirls it back around and points it threateningly at Aria and Totomaru. The latter has remained quiet until now, but he cackles, taking a step forward.

"Oh hon hon, what's this?"

He throws a punch, but she's so short that it's not hard to dodge, and instead slides across the floor and knocks him off his feet. She never thought the day would come when she'd actually _use _the self-defense lessons that Erza and Gajeel had forced upon her, but now was as good a time as any to put them into practice.

Everything is going as well as it can until Aria snags her pole and lifts it high into the air, leaving her dangling as she hangs on. That's when things really start to look bleak. Jose grimaces at her and grinds his teeth. "You're a stubborn one, I'll give you th—"

"Levy, get out of the way!"

All eyes snap over to the previously unnoticed Romeo, who hurls a Molotov cocktail at the men. Levy drops to the ground and clears out just in time. She watches in amazement and horror as the three men take off screaming, trying to put out the fire and failing.

She slowly turns to Romeo, the former six-pack, a container of kerosene, and the opened lighter package next to him, gawking. He smiles sheepishly and shrugs. "I uh, I just really like chemistry?"

Evil mastermind it is, then.

.

(_x_)

.

Natsu adjusts the small child on his back and glances around. He's somewhat elated to find that he's incredibly close to Lucy's street, and that the area seems relatively untouched. Happy nuzzles closer into the collar of his jacket and the older boy hopes that the blonde is still inside her house. At least then he'd know that she's safe and hasn't been—

He vigorously shakes his head. _Don't think like that, you moron. Lucy's fine. She's tough as balls, there's no way some fucking walker would be able to take her out. _

The street is eerily silent, and he keeps glancing at his murky reflection in the canal as he walks. His eyes look heavy, like there's some sort of incredible weight there, and his mouth is drawn into a pensive line. What happened to him? Ten minutes ago he was prepared to be this ultimate zombie-slaying badass, and now all he could think about is his best friend out there somewhere. Or maybe just her in general.

He ponders over it for a few seconds as Happy stirs in his arms, and decides that he needs to find Lucy as soon as humanly possible. Then he could go on with being legendary and doing Great Things. Ugh, he needs some Captain Crunch like pronto.

All of a sudden, Happy begins to poke him frantically, and Natsu raises a brow. "What? What is it?"

The boy looks at him with wild but bright eyes and points to something moving next to a dumpster in the alley they're passing. Natsu tenses in preparation to go on the defense, but the rustling stops and something small and white pops its head up over a box. He blinks at Happy, who is beaming back at him and jabbing his pointer finger at the animal.

"A kitten?" Natsu laughs, relaxing. "You want to keep it, huh?"

Happy nods enthusiastically and continues gesturing wildly to the puff of fur and wary eyes. Natsu laughs a sigh, but shuffles over to the dumpster and the small thing eyeing them suspiciously. He scoops it up, with much verbal protest from the animal, and hands it back to the boy.

"Okay," he nods. "We can keep it, but you gotta take care of her, alright?"

Natsu smiles as the kid nods enthusiastically and holds the kitten carefully in his hands. She doesn't appear to like him very much, considering how much she squirms, and Natsu sets Happy down so they can make proper arrangements for their new friend.

Once she's properly tucked away in Happy's backpack with her little head sticking out, looking quite moody but content, the teenager stretches while his charge plays with a few toy cars that had apparently been stored in his overall pockets. Natsu figures they should check Lucy's place before they move on to Fairy Tail, but he's been carrying the five-year-old for a while now and needs a short break.

He's pulling a protein bar—something Gray left over at his house like two weeks ago or something—out of his backpack when he first picks up the rumbling. It grows louder every second and it headed straight for them.

"Happy," he calls out warily, "come on we need to—"

Natsu's cut off by the screech of tires and the sound of someone shouting at the top of their lungs. He squints, trying to focus on the ever-nearing screech because it sounds familiar. And then some black hunk of junk is slamming to a halt in front of them, and Natsu gently pushes Happy behind him, but keeps one of his hands on the boy's head, the other on his rifle.

"—THE HELL DID YOU EVER PASS DRIVER'S TRAINING, YOU CRAZY BASTARD."

He does know that voice.

The passenger door swings open to reveal a blanching Gray, who doesn't even notice Natsu. "This isn't the fucking Fast &amp; Furious, snowplow edition, Gajeel. You could've killed us."

"Ice prick, staple-faced bastard," Natsu greets, his hand slipping from the gun slung around his shoulder in a half-assed wave.

Gray scowls in his general direction and Gajeel leans over his extremely rude passenger to send a wild grin to their friend. "Yo, hothead. Need a ride?"

_tbc._

**end notes: **so i don't like cool ranch doritos, fight me. also, this turned out...not as humorous as i was going for? oops.


End file.
